


Paths of Pleasure

by cephalopod_groupie



Category: Anonymous Author, Edwardian Erotica, Memoirs of a Voluptuary
Genre: Anal Sex, Edwardian Period, Erotica, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cephalopod_groupie/pseuds/cephalopod_groupie
Summary: This is a sequel of sorts to the Edwardian erotic novel Memoirs of a Voluptuary. Originally published in 1908 (some sources say 1905/6), this work was written by "anonymous." I would love to know who the real author was but sadly I can't find any information about that. Also worth noting is my difficulty with determining what time to set this fic in. To quote the volume itself, the narrator says "my memory could not possibly be sufficiently vivid to enable me to pen a truthful journal of what happened a considerable number of years ago" (Chapter 8). So I'm gonna speculate that a "considerable number of years ago" is about 10 before publication which would mean that Charlie, who is 13 when the book begins, was born somewhere around 1885. By that line of thinking, Bob would be born around 1882. Because Rutherford is off to Sandhurst at the close of the novel, I thought I'd make a reunion in connection with that.





	Paths of Pleasure

I was indeed several years until I saw Bob's smiling face again. It seemed to me that pleasure had evaded me for quite some time when I stood on the platform early one morning, a year before the Great War had come to a close. I had stepped off the train and was retrieving my kit from the porter when a tall, handsome figure caught my eye.

“Could it be?” I said under my breath, walking toward the gentleman, for that is what he was. He was a man in his early 30s but rather worn, most of the youth seemed to be drained out of him and yet the little flicker of it in his mannerisms ignited my memory.

“Bob?” The man didn’t seem to know me at first but then his face was altered considerably, as if waking from a terrible nightmare. His ashen face brightened and a hint of a smile appeared on his well-formed lips.

“Charlie? By God, it is you?”

“Yes, it’s me; Powerscourt.” There must have been sadness and concern on my face when I saw him, for he said, “Now, don’t look like that…we’ve all been through it.” He indicated my uniform.

“My word, you’ve grown,” Bob added hastily so as not to dwell on melancholy realities. “I hardly recognized you.” I chuckled and agreed with him. I had some difficulty in furthering the conversation and began, rather clumsily, to ask where he was headed. It turned out that we were both on our way to the very same infirmary.

“As you can see, I’ve been knocked about a bit,” Bob said wearily with a trace of his former good humour, pointing to a rather large scar about his right brow. Poor Rutherford was certainly worse off then I. He had a car waiting and so I informed my escort that there was no need to wait for me and we set off across the Wiltshire countryside. Visions of my pleasured beginnings with Bob came flooding into my mind and I was anxious to know if he remembered those times to, yet I knew I must wait.


End file.
